


Ferns

by ceruleanshark



Series: Mae and Fingon [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fingon is a good boyfriend, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleanshark/pseuds/ceruleanshark
Summary: Fingon helps Maedhros take care of himself after Angband.





	Ferns

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a dump of Mae headcanons with some Russingon to top things off. Maedhros has an anxiety attack in this, so if you're sensitive to such things then proceed with caution.

“You wanted to see me?” Maedhros said, leaning against the door to Fingon’s room. He nodded, standing up from his seat at the desk and approaching his cousin with swift steps.

“Yes. I...well, I got something for you. You've been working so much lately, what with Doriath and all, and I wanted you to have something nice.” Fingon clasped his hands behind his back, eyes running over Maedhros’ tall figure.

Dark circles stood out under Maedhros’ blue-gray eyes, and his red hair was unwashed and matted around his sallow face. He was clad in a too-large shirt, hand and prosthetic half hidden in the fluffy sleeves. He slouched against the doorway, looking half asleep.

“What is it?” Maedhros yawned, eyes slightly glassy. Fingon frowned and raised one eyebrow. “When was the last time you slept? Or ate, for that matter?”

Maedhros shrugged. “I've been working on diplomatic letters, Finno. Our people come first.” Fingon shook his head and rested his hands on his lover’s narrow shoulders. “Mae, you need to take care of yourself.” He trailed one hand down to grip his right hand and lead him slowly across the room.

“Where are you taking me?” Maedhros immediately tensed up, tiredness seemingly to leave his body. Fingon quickly released him and stepped back, raising his hands in a calming gesture.

“I won't hurt you, my love. Will you be alright taking a bath?” Maedhros nodded dully, drawing his coat closer to him. Fingon gave him a reassuring look. 

“Sit out here and I'll draw one for you. Is leaving you alone okay?” He asked in a low voice. Maedhros managed a weak grin and seated himself gingerly on the foot of Fingon’s bed, plush mattress dipping beneath his slender form. “I can be alone.” He affirmed.  
Fingon nodded and left to prepare a bath for his lover. He looked forward to giving Maedhros his present, but care came first.

 

~~~~

 

“Your bath is ready.” Fingon poked his head out of the small bathing chambers, braid falling over one shoulder. Maedhros listlessly got up from where he sat and hesitated at the door.

“Do you want me to stay or leave?” Fingon asked, looking up at him. He glanced into the bedroom. “Stay in there, please. Could you...could you guard the door, maybe?”

Fingon nodded. “Of course. Take as much time as you need. I shall be right outside, my love. You are safe.” He soothed, voice soft and gaze friendly, before stepping into the bedroom and leaving Maedhros to his bath.

Ten minutes later, Fingon knocked on the door three times. “Maedhros? Are you doing okay?” He called, pressing his ear to the wood to listen for his reply. Nothing but silence greeted him.

He knocked one again, but there was still no reply. “Maedhros, I'm coming in, okay?” He called, then reached out and slowly opened the door.

The chamber was steamy and warm from the heat of the bath. Maedhros was hardly visible, his clothes in a messy heap on the floor. His head lolled on one side of the tub, eyes closed and breathing peacefully.

Fingon couldn't help but smile. Seeing Maedhros at peace was a rare sight and had been thus for far too long. He did not enter the room, but called out to him, voice cutting through the silent room.

Maedhros jerked awake to the sound of his name, water sloshing in the tub as he sat bolt upright. His scarred chest heaved as he glanced wildly around. “What's wrong? What's happening?” He asked, voice urgent and words tumbling over each other.

“Nothing is wrong. You fell asleep in your bath, darling. Do you want me to leave again?” Fingon kept his tone level, like he was talking to a frightened animal. Maedhros visibly relaxed at the sound of his voice.

“Can you stay, Finno?” Maedhros suddenly sounded very tired. Fingon nodded and walked over to the tub, dropping to his knees on the floor beside it. He quickly began to soap Maedhros’ short hair, working his fingers nimbly against his scalp. 

Fingon made a point of avoiding contact with his torn ears, the clean notches surgically precise. It sent a shiver down his spine to imagine what had been done to him at Morgoth’s command. He could never ask, of course, but his imagination was terrifying enough. He shook his head to chase away the dark thoughts and focused on the task at hand.

Maedhros relaxed a bit under Fingon's hands. It was nice to lie in the hot water and have someone care for him, the sweet smell of the soap lying heavy in the air. He allowed Fingon to rinse his hair before he reached up to tentatively grasp his wrist.

“What is it?” Fingon asked, smiling encouragingly at him. “I can finish washing, you can go now.” Maedhros said, still a little unsure of asserting himself in such a way.

“Of course.” He stood and wiped his hands on a towel, then strode out of the room. Maedhros tilted his head back and sighed, scalp still tingling slightly from Fingon's touch. He made quick work of washing himself, doing his best to ignore the scars marring his pale skin. 

The hardest to look at was the brand on his chest, though it had faded to a knot of scar tissue. The memory was still there, seared into his mind as surely as the hot iron had once seared into his flesh. 

It had taken countless orcs to hold him down after he'd throttled one of them and broken another's jaw. An ill-guarded bootknife had found its way into his hands and had been used to eliminate several more guards in his bid for freedom.

After he'd been branded, he remembered crying so hard he made himself nauseous. The echoes of those feelings reached him even now, making his stomach churn. He shut his eyes and groaned loudly, massaging his temples as an ache built behind them. 

His head felt foggy, and he could feel his grip on reality fading. He wanted to scream but he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't escape the living nightmare that was his past. 

Maedhros could almost feel the weight of the chains around his neck and wrists, the clawed hands holding him still, and the stone floor under his writhing form. But the worst was the sense of hopelessness, the very real threat of never escaping back to the life that had once been his.

“Maedhros?” Fingon called from the bedroom. Maedhros grasped onto the familiar sound like a lifeline, hauling himself back from the brink. He gasped raggedly as Fingon pushed the door open. His fists clenched hard, nails making half-moon dents in his palm.

Fingon hurried over to the tub. “Maedhros, stay with me. You're here, not with them. You're okay. Can you stand up for me?”

Maedhros stood with a faint whine, swaying and shaking on the spot. Fingon scooped up a fluffy towel and threw it over his shoulders, allowing him to wrap it around his trembling frame.

“I'm going to touch you, is that okay?” Fingon asked. Maedhros barely managed a single nod, still frozen in terror. The lump in his throat blocked any words. He knotted his fists in the towel, covering his scars, forcing the past from his sight.

Fingon gently gripped his arms and helped him out of the tub, Maedhros crumpling against his chest the moment his feet hit the ground. He held him close, not minding the large wet patch the bathwater left on his robes.

“Nelyo, Nelyo, it's okay. I'm here. I'm going to lead you into the room now, so you can sit by the fire and get warm.” Fingon explained in a clear voice, not showing the distress he felt. He couldn't let him see how upset he was every time Maedhros slipped into his memories.

Maedhros allowed himself to be led to the fur rug in front of the fire, where Fingon promptly wrapped him in more blankets and pulled his coat onto his wiry form. The panic faded as quickly as it had set on, the reassuring pressure of the heavy blankets keeping him locked in the present. It was replaced by a bone-numbing tiredness, as though he had truly been struggling against orcs.

Fingon quickly discarded his wet robes, letting them pool to the floor. He stepped out of them and adjusted his blue tunic over the pale brown leggings. He walked over to the carven wardrobe. Pulling out a small crate, he left it on the plush couch and sat down neatly on the far end of the rug.

“Can you speak?” Fingon asked, tucking his knees up under him. Maedhros paused for a few seconds, then tilted his head. “Yes.” He said hoarsely.

“Can I get you anything?” Fingon asked. Maedhros scooted across the carpet and leaned forward to delicately rest his head on Fingon’s chest. “Just hold me for a while.” He whispered into the soft fabric of Fingon’s tunic.

Maedhros rarely initiated physical affection nowadays, and Fingon was a little stunned by the change of events. He adjusted their blankets and laid back, letting Maedhros curl up almost catlike beside him. He cautiously touched his short hair, and when he relaxed further Fingon began to lightly stroke the red strands.

“Thanks, Finno.” His voice was small and shaky. Fingon smiled kindly at him. “Of course, my love.” He nodded towards the wooden crate. “I got your present out. Would you like it?”

Maedhros nodded, yawning a little. Fingon reached one arm behind himself awkwardly and tugged the crate forward with his fingertips. Once it was within proper reach, he picked it up and presented it to Maedhros.

“Here you go.” Fingon looked on eagerly as Maedhros sat up and pried the lid off. Setting it aside, he peeked into the box.

Fingon could pinpoint the exact moment Maedhros’ eyes lit up with joy. He made a soft sound of delight as he scooped up the potted plant within. Several blue-green fronds spilled over the edge of the ceramic pot, tickling his hand when he lightly ran his fingers over it.  
“I've never seen this species before! Thank you!” His eyes were wide and he began to glow with a reddish-gold light. It was faint, hardly enough to show, but to Fingon it put all of Varda’s stars to shame.

“I went out to find it for you.” Fingon explained, laying one hand over Maedhros’. “Something new. I remember the greenhouse you used to keep.”

Maedhros was still transfixed by the fern, gently examining the curling fronds and running his fingers down the stalks. In truth, Fingon had not been sure of whether or not Nelyo had known of its existence. He had picked it simply for the dull metallic color that reminded him of Maedhros’ eyes. 

“Happy begetting day.” Fingon whispered, before internally kicking himself. He knew how detached he felt from the pre-Angband Maedhros. Reminders of anything but the present were liable to send him into a panic.

But this time, Nelyo managed a smile and leaned over to press a quick kiss to Fingon's flushed cheek. “Thank you, Finno. I had forgotten.” He set the fern back down carefully.

“You're...okay with knowing?” Fingon ventured. The ghost of a frown crossed Maedhros’ face, but then he nodded slowly. “I think I am seeing that Maedhros as a part of me once more.”

Those words were simple, but they took Fingon's breath away. He leaned forward and embraced him without a second thought, grinning into the blankets covering his shoulder. Maedhros rolled onto his side, snuggling into the fur carpet and cradling Fingon to his chest.

“Thank you.” Maedhros whispered, his glow strengthening. Fingon's own glow mingled with his, creating a small nebula of dim light around the pair. “I will always be here for you, Maedhros. Nothing can tear us apart, not even the armies of Morgoth himself.” Fingon promised him.

Maedhros merely made a soft noise of affection in response and closed his eyes tight, breathing already getting deeper. Fingon kissed his forehead and then, with a soft sigh, lay down to follow him into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely did not finish writing and editing this because I finished the last chapter of AEC and it made me sad.


End file.
